Page 35 of My Kind of Scoundel
Aaron was being surprisingly accommodating.
“Thank you.”
Theo was about to leave when Aaron called, “You have my full support in all matters. I just ask that you keep me informed of your plans. I’d rather not hear the news from Daventry.”
“I trust your counsel.” Keen to show Miss Lovelace there was no finer man than Aaron, he added, “You always act in the best interests of this family. No one’s opinion matters more.” Aaron was the anchor that kept them all grounded.
A silent look passed between them.
The unbreakable bond of brotherhood.
“Whatever you need, it’s yours,” Aaron said.
Theo thanked him again but was conscious of the womanin his arms—the only woman he had ever held like this—and so made his excuses and withdrew.
Miss Darrow’s eyes fluttered open when he reached the stairs, and she smiled, albeit weakly. “I think you enjoy playing the knight errant. Perhaps that’s why you stole my sewing box. So you might display the qualities of a hero.”
“I’m hardly a hero. I’m the scoundrel who stole your box so I had something to trade for your arousing kisses.”
Her hand came to rest on his heart. “You owe me a forfeit,” she uttered as he mounted the stairs. “That’s not why you stole my box.”
“No, but you do have the mouth of Venus.” And he was more than happy to pay a penance if it pleased her. “Kissing you is like drinking the nectar of the gods. And don’t challenge me on that. I mean every word.”
“I believe I’m supposed to say thank you.” Her smile faded, and he felt her strength seep from every muscle as she nestled into his chest and closed her eyes.
Fear crept into his heart.
What if this was their last conversation?
What if he never got to truly make amends?
What if guilt would forever be his companion?
Chapter Eight
Eleanor woke to find herself in a dark bedchamber—Mr Chance’s bedchamber. The midnight blue curtains were drawn, though she could hear the hustle and bustle of daily life outside on the street. Dogs barked. Carriages clattered over the cobblestones. A costermonger proclaimed his apples were the juiciest this side of the Thames.
Inside the opulent chamber, all was quiet.
Someone had tucked in the bedsheets. Sheets that smelled ofhiscologne. Sheets that were warm and smooth against her bare legs.
Merciful Lord, her legs were bare.
Someone had stripped off her clothes.
Eleanor came up on her elbows, wincing because her head throbbed and every muscle ached. Her mouth was as dry as old parchment, though that was the least of her concerns.
Panicked, she peered under the covers. Her gaze settled on the delicate muslin nightgown clinging to her curves and the silk ribbons fastened into a bow under her bust. Thepretty garment did not belong to her, yet wearing another woman’s gown was not what played havoc with her insides.
Seeing her bare thighs resting on Theodore Chance’s bedsheets caused a strange fluttering in her belly. Being cocooned in his intimate space brought a profound sense of closeness to a man she should keep at bay.
Her gaze shot to the pillows.
Had he slept beside her?
Had his leg stroked hers in the night?
Had his hand skimmed her hip?
